The elevator doors slide shut with a soft chime.
Just us.
The air changes. Thickens. He fills it.
Silas doesn’t look at me. He stares at the polished steel doors, jaw tight, suit jacket already unbuttoned. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I gasp. His thigh slides between my legs. I’m pressed right where I want him.
He’s hard. Already.
My nipples peak through my thin silk top. My core throbs. It’s been ten minutes since I handed over my credit card. Ten minutes since I watched three men bid against each other. Ten minutes since I looked into his eyes and knew.
I knew before the gavel fell.
The elevator dings.
His hand presses against the small of my back, guiding me out. The penthouse door is heavy oak. He doesn’t use a key. He punches a code. The lock clicks. The door swings open.
Cold air hits my skin. Floor-to-ceiling windows. City lights sprawling below like spilled diamonds. A private terrace beyond the sliding glass. And a bed. Huge. White linens. Centered in the room like an altar.
Silas steps in. Doesn’t turn on a light. The city glow paints him in silver and shadow. He kicks the door shut behind us.
The sound echoes. Final.
He turns.
His eyes are black. Starved. Hunting.
“You spent my money,” he says. Voice rough. Low. A growl wrapped in velvet.
I swallow. Nod.
He crosses the room in three strides. His hand cups my jaw. Thumbs pressing into my cheeks. Forcing me up on my toes. His gaze drops to my mouth. Then my throat. Then my chest.
“You looked at me like I was yours,” he murmurs. “Then you walked away and let them bid.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” I whisper.
He smiles. It’s not kind. It’s hungry.
“You bid on me, sweetheart. Now I own you.”
The words hit me like a physical strike. My knees buckle. He catches me. One arm bands around my waist. The other fists in my hair, tilting my head back.
I should be scared. I should run.
I’m not.
I melt. The second his skin touches mine, I melt. The instalove isn’t soft. It’s a crash. A drowning. A recognition so deep it steals my breath.
He knows me. I know him. We’ve been circling each other in the dark, and the moment we touched, the dark vanished.
He bends his head. His mouth crashes into mine.
No hesitation. No gentle testing. His tongue slides past my lips, claiming my mouth like territory. I make a noise. Low. Desperate. My fingers dig into his shoulders. I pull him closer. I need him. I need him inside me. Right now.
He groans against my mouth. Fingers tighten in my hair. He breaks the kiss, breath ragged.
“Breathe, little girl,” he orders.
I do. Shaky. Fast.
He spins me. Hands on my hips. Drives me back until my shoulders hit the glass. Cold. Wet. I gasp. He’s already unbuttoning his trousers. His cock springs free. Thick. Heavy. Veined. Aching.
I stare. Eyes wide. Mouth dry.
He catches me looking. Smirks.
“Like what you see?”
I nod. Can’t speak.
He lines himself up. Pushes in.
No prep. No warning. Just heat. Pressure. Stretch. I cry out. Fingers claw at the glass. He holds me there. One hand on my hip. The other braced against the window. He drives deep. To the hilt.
I feel him in my stomach. In my throat. In my bones.
He’s so big. Fills me completely. Leaves no room for doubt.
“Mine,” he growls. Starts moving.
Thrusts. Hard. Fast. The glass vibrates under my back. My nails scrape the surface. I’m sobbing. Laughing. Shaking. Every snap of his hips drags a whimper from my lips. He sets a ruthless pace. Unforgiving. Relentless.
I come in under two minutes.
It hits me like a wave. Violent. Sweeping. I clamp down on him. My inner walls spasm. He curses. Bites my shoulder. Hard. Marks me.
“Fuck. You’re so tight,” he snarls. “Gonna breed you right here. Gonna fill you up until you’re carrying my name.”
The words ignite something primal. I arch. Push back. Match his thrusts. I want it. I want every drop. I want him to plant his seed so deep it takes root. I want to wake up nine months from now with his baby kicking my ribs. I want it so bad it aches.
He feels it. His pace fractures. Breath turns ragged.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I force my eyes open. Meet his.
His pupils are blown. Dark. Possessive. Raw.
“You’re mine,” he repeats. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I choke out. “Yours. Daddy’s.”
The title slips out before I think. He shudders. Groans. Drives harder. Faster. The pace becomes frantic. Desperate. I’m clinging to him. To the glass. To the edge of myself.
He grabs my ass. Squeezes. Pulls me down on his cock. Buries himself to the root.
I scream.
He follows. A guttural roar tears from his chest. His body locks. Hips stutter. He empties himself inside me. Hot. Thick. Pulsing. Wave after wave of it. I feel every drop. Feel it coat my cervix. Feel it pool where a baby could grow.
We stay like that. Breathing. Shaking. City lights reflecting in his eyes.
He doesn’t pull out. Keeps me impaled. Keeps me full.
“Fuck,” he whispers. Presses his forehead to mine. “You’re really going to let me do that to you.”
“Do what?” I breathe.
“Make you mine.”
I nod. Tears prick my eyes. Not from pain. From relief. From belonging.
“I already am.”
He closes his eyes. Holds me tighter. For a long moment, there’s only sound. Our breathing. The distant hum of the city. The soft slap of skin against skin.
Then he moves.
Gentles his grip. Turns me around. Faces me. His thumbs brush my cheeks. Wipe away tears I didn’t realize fell.
“Cute,” he murmurs. “But we’re not done.”
He walks me backward. Away from the glass. Across the hardwood. Past the couch. Toward the bed.
I don’t resist. I can’t. Every step makes my core throb. Every thrust echoes in my hips. I’m still full of him. Still trembling. Still his.
He pushes me down onto the mattress. White sheets cool against my bare back. He sheds his suit jacket. Unbuttons his shirt. Buttons pop. Toss them aside. His chest is broad. Scarred. Beautiful.
He kicks off his shoes. Steps out of his trousers. Boxes. Socks.
I watch. Hypnotized. He’s even bigger without fabric. Aching. Ready.
He crawls over me. Cages me in. Knees on either side of my hips. Hands on my thighs. His weight settles. Heavy. Grounding.
“You don’t fight it,” he says. Voice low. Certain. “Not with me. You let me take what I need. You let me give you what you need.”
I nod. Heart hammering. “I want it.”
He smiles. Dark. Satisfied. “Good girl.”
His mouth finds mine. Slower now. Deeper. A promise wrapped in heat. His hands slide under my back. Push my top up. Expose my chest. His palms cover me. Thumbs brush my nipples. I arch. Gasp.
He leans down. Licks a stripe up my collarbone. Bites my shoulder. Sucks.
“Marked,” he murmurs. “Again.”
He lines up. Pushes in.
I cry out. Again. Always. He’s so thick. So perfect. He fills every inch I didn’t know I was missing. I wrap my legs around his waist. Pull him down.
He starts slow. Deep. Rolling his hips. Grinding. Drawing out the friction. Making me feel every ridge. Every vein. Every pulse.
My back bows. Fingers twist in the sheets. I’m close. Already. It only takes two more strokes.
“Look at you,” he pants. Voice ragged. “So pretty when you fall apart.”
I can’t speak. Can only nod. Whimper. Push against him.
He snaps. The rhythm breaks. Becomes punishing. Relentless. Each thrust bottoming out. Hitting that sweet spot over and over. I’m sobbing. Clinging to him. Falling.
“Let go,” he commands. “Give it to me.”
I do.
The climax rips through me. Violent. Blinding. My body convulses. Inner walls clamp down. Milk him dry. I scream his name. He shouts back. Grinds down. Hides his face in my neck. Bites. Sucks.
He erupts.
Hot. Heavy. Inescapable. He pours into me. Again. Again. Deeper. Harder. I feel it coat my cervix. Feel it seep into the place where a baby would start. I sob. He groans. We ride it out. Shaking. Sweating. Bound.
He collapses beside me. Pulls me against his chest. Arm heavy across my stomach.
Silence.
Then his hand settles. Right over my lower belly.
“You’re going to carry it,” he says. Quiet. Certain. “My baby. Growing inside you.”
I turn my face into his neck. Breathe him in. Musk. Sex. Home.
“I know,” I whisper.
He presses a kiss to my temple. Holds me tighter.
“Don’t ever let go,” he murmurs.
I don’t plan to.
The city glows outside. The bed is warm. My body aches. My core pulses. I’m full. I’m claimed. I’m his.
And when I feel his hand shift, tracing slow circles over my skin, I know exactly what comes next.
He’s going to keep trying.
Until I’m round. Until I’m heavy. Until I’m carrying his legacy.
And I’ll let him.
Because I’m his little girl.
And he’s my Daddy.